One eye opened first, then the other. Sofia saw it was after noon. She hadn’t washed her face before going to sleep, so the pillow case was smudged with black eyeliner, mascara, and red lipstick. Who a…how did I get into bed? she wondered. Nico’s legs were threaded through hers, and his arm was draped over her hip, but she managed to slip out without waking him. She staggered into the kitchen to pour herself a large glass of orange juice, stirring in an EmergenC. God, she was still so thirsty. What the hell was in that drink?
Stumbling around the kitchen, she managed to make coffee and get some bacon out of the fridge and into a pan. She started cutting up onions and peppers to sauté in the deep iron skillet, only pausing briefly to wonder if wielding a knife was a good idea in her condition. After making it through the onions and peppers with all her fingers intact, she also cut up some asparagus and mushrooms to add to the mix. Starving and assuming Nico would be, too, she scrambled a dozen eggs, adding parmesan cheese and red pepper flakes. Soon the house smelled like the best B&B ever, and Nico emerged. “Wow, what time is it, Spyder?” he mumbled, raking his hands through his hair.
His eyes half open and hair tousled, he looked sexy as ever, wearing low–slung, worn-out yoga pants that did nothing to hide his semi-erect cock. He always woke up like that, and it made her horny for him. “It’s after noon, Nico. What a night that was, huh? My ears are still ringing!” She put her arms around him and rubbed up against him playfully.
Sidestepping her, he reached for a mug and poured himself some coffee, snatching a piece of asparagus out of the pan.
“I was going to open Prosecco for New Year’s Day, but I don’t know if I want any after last night,” Sofia giggled.
Nico agreed. “Let’s go for a swim in the ocean after breakfast instead,” he suggested.
She balked, “Um, it’s January, Nico. It’ll be cold.”
“Yeah, but we can go for a run first, then take off our clothes and step backward into the sea. It’s good luck in my country. Actually, we should have done it last night when we got home!”
Sofia wrinkled her nose and squirmed at the thought. “Yeah, right! I couldn’t even walk!”
After breakfast, Nico spoke to his sister and Ita, while Sofia called home, then they put on running clothes and headed down to the beach. Inhaling deeply, Sofia was elated by the smell of the briny air and warmth of the sun on her face. With Nico pulling her along when she couldn’t keep up, they laughed, being playful with each other as they ran. This was the Nico she adored. On the return trip, as they neared her house, they stripped down to underwear and ran, splashing, into the waves, shrieking with delight.
This was about the happiest Sofia had ever been with Nico. Why couldn’t it always be this way? Why did he have to go over to the dark side so often? She thought about getting back to work, the Writers Guild Award coming in the next month, but mostly, she thought about speaking with Luna. She was grateful to have someone to talk to about Nico. Recently, she had shared a Pin with Luna about bipolar disorder, adding an LOL and making a joke about his radical mood swings between hopeless despondency and an unrealistic sense of superiority. Luna responded with an LOL even though it wasn’t funny, theorizing it was a reasonable diagnosis and sparking Sofia’s curiosity by postulating he had an indelible desolation and fear of abandonment, but she felt there was more.
Emerging from the cold waves, they gathered their clothes and dashed up the steep steps to the deck, then into the house through the sliding glass doors. Sofia went straight to the shower and stepped in, letting the hot water caress her while she gazed out the window overlooking the ocean. She thought about how much she loved her house and how grateful she was for her life at that moment.
Appearing from the bedroom, Nico opened the glass door, embracing her so they both fit under the showerhead. He shampooed his hair, letting soapy bubbles run down his chiseled physique and onto his beautifully formed thighs. Sofia put her soapy hands on his cock, lathering him up, and he leaned against the stone wall to brace himself, his eyes closed as he rocked his hips. Suddenly grabbing her, he turned her around to face away from him, placing her hands on top of the shower door. Pressed against the glass, Sofia was surprised at how sensuous the soapy glass felt against her body. Taking her from behind, he pumped her fast, causing her whole body to rub up and down the glass, her tits leaving streak marks. Slowing down his thrusts, he let her down easily and gently bent her over, positioning himself at the opening to her pussy.
Leaning over her back, he wrapped one arm around her chest, holding her close to him while he fondled her tits, squeezing them and pinching her nipples until they were hard. Playing with herself, she reached back, letting her fingers roam to softly pet his balls before returning to her clit. Contracting around his cock, she could feel him ready to explode and made herself come at exactly the same time. Bracing himself against the wall so they wouldn’t fall, he held her tightly as her legs stiffened and her orgasm rolled. He called out as he pumped inside her, his hips pressed deeply against her ass.
After their shower, Nico laid down on the sofa and put on a movie while Sofia took out boxes and began taking down the tree. He commented wistfully, “It’s sad we can’t leave it up all year.”
She nodded her silent agreement. After putting the seahorses back into their little box with compartments, she set it off to the side instead of adding them to the Container Store bin. Handing the ornaments to him later, she said, “You should keep these at your place.”
“But what will I do with them?” he asked.
She suggested warmly, “You can hang them up there all year. They’re not Santas. They’re seahorses.”
Nico grinned happily. “Yeah. That’s a great idea.”
While putting the lights away, she overheard Nico confirming private sessions for the week. Erin had texted him that she wanted to see him right away to begin the New Year, causing Sofia’s heart to do a little flip flop, but she didn’t comment. And he kept messaging that Alexa woman they’d seen at Piccolino, trying to arrange a meeting. Sofia thought there was something sinister about Alexa and didn’t trust her. Having thus been slapped by reality, she began looking forward to getting back to work.
13
Setting aside the Writers Guild press release announcing the show’s nomination for Best New Series, Luna thought about the Costume Designers Guild Awards. Following on the heels of Sex and the City, Luna had begun secretly wishing for an award. Now, with the nominee announcement so close, she tried hard to temper her anticipation with realism, but somewhere deep inside she was already rehearsing her acceptance speech.
She left work early to drive to Nico’s studio, hoping to catch him alone and give him the Christmas gift she’d bought in Santa Fe. She found him in front of the computer in his office, seemingly frustrated. Hugging him, she said, “I missed you. What’s wrong, Nico? Talk to me.”
He looked up. “Luna, I have so much going on, and Sofia makes mistakes that cost me business.”
Rubbing his arm, she offered, “I’m here for you, Nico. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll help you.”
Gesturing for her to sit down, he seemed to relax, saying, “You’re the only one I can count on, Luna.”
Pulling a chair up next to him so that their legs were side by side, she saw Nico peering up at her from under his eyelashes, flirting boyishly. Luna put her forehead against his, the way she used to do with her horse. It was a gentle, intimate gesture that she knew soothed him. She’d just settled in when he announced he was late for a meeting. Disappointed he was leaving, she piped up, “Wait, Nico. Before you leave, I have your Christmas gift.”
He remarked, “Oh, Luna. I haven’t had any time all week. I have something for you, but it isn’t here!”
Luna knew how Nico was. She might not see that gift for months, if at all. “Nico, all I want is to be close to you…friends forever. You know that.” She took the pretty little box out of the zippered compartment of her bag. She hadn’t even gift
wrapped it; the box alone was a deep turquoise, the same as the sky in Santa Fe, with the embossed logo of the cutlery shop.
Lifting the lid, he saw the pocketknife resting inside. The flecks of Apache Gold sparkled in the light from his desk lamp, a strong contrast against the jet black inlay. When he looked up, she saw how the knife perfectly mirrored the color of his hair falling over the golden flecks in his smoky green eyes. Luna thought she saw a tear well up, but he looked down quickly and opened the blade, admiring the dark grey swirls in the Damascus steel. “Wow. Luna, it’s incredible. You bought this in Mexico?” he asked.
“New Mexico, Nico. It reminds me of you—beautiful and can cut you to ribbons.”
He laughed out loud. “That’s right! Luna, you’re so special to me. Thank you.”
He reached over, giving her a quick hug. When he did, she kissed the side of his neck, inhaling his intoxicating scent. “I love you so much, Nico,” Her words startled even her, and she looked down.
He looked her in the eye. “I’m sorry, Luna. I’ll call you later. I’m late.” He walked her to the door, but when she turned to wave good-bye, he was already gone. She felt sad. Something she couldn’t put her finger on bothered her, but she pushed it away.
Sofia was trying to focus despite her constantly vibrating phone. She did her best to ignore it, but eventually another writer said, “Why don’t you tell whoever keeps calling you you’ll get back to them later. You’re totally distracted, and we have to finish this scene.”
Flushing with embarrassment, Sofia reached to turn off the phone and saw ten missed calls from Nico. She texted him to say she was in the room with the writers and would get back to him later. His text back read:
Fuck them. When I call, you better pick up! Call me right now!
She excused herself and went to the bathroom to call him.
“Sofia!” he snapped as he answered, “Erin needs my script for the documentary right away. You have to write it and send it to me now.”
Tearing up, she took a deep breath and forced herself to set boundaries. “Nico, I can’t do it right now. I’m working.”
He shot back, “Fuck you. I’m done with you. You always damage me and ruin my business.” Then he hung up on her. She was shaken, but had to get back to the room. For the rest of the day, she hoped her distraction wasn’t too obvious.
Erin’s agency, Grey Dog, was conveniently located in Santa Monica, not too far from her beach house and a short drive from Shutters on the Beach. As she got out of the car, she unbuttoned the front of her black jumpsuit so the dragon tattoo just above her right breast would be clearly visible, also revealing a bustier-style bra. As much her personal brand as it was her uniform, Erin was known for being almost anti-fashion—one day looking like a dominatrix and the next like a monk. Her cropped, dyed black hair was spiked out to accentuate an asymmetrical cut. Though she liked the masculine edge and low-maintenance simplicity, she had recently found herself fussing with her hair and applying black eyeliner to accentuate her fierce grey eyes.
Shutters on the Beach, with its casual elegance, was known for Hollywood deal making. It was the perfect venue for meeting with Jacob, the creative director and filmmaker whose work had helped make Grey Dog one of the top branding agencies in the world.
Erin knew Jacob was interested in making a documentary about shamanism. When she’d told him that her yoga instructor, Nico Romero, had been initiated by the Q’ero tribe, describing the mysterious ceremonies and the pranayamas that uncoiled the kundalini, he’d asked Erin to make an introduction.
Jacob and Erin were in agreement that yoga instructors and energy healers were becoming the new breed of therapist, making it cool to have a personal healer, much like a life coach. When Erin had texted Jacob a picture of Nico, he’d enthusiastically stated that Nico was perfect—with his powerful masculinity, Kundalini Yoga, and the magical ingredients of mystical ceremonies, Jacob’s film would be a visual feast. Erin concurred, and also believed that with the right platform, he could be a hotter brand than Deepak Chopra.
Jacob Kafka was the epitome of coolness. A burly Algerian in his late forties, with an impressive mustache, dark beard, and a mop of unruly long, curly hair, his soft-spoken teddy bear demeanor concealed a talented, masterful, and prescient creative director. Erin’s usual bullying had proved useless with Jacob; if she argued with him, he simply launched into a rambling tirade in a mixture of Arabic and French. After trusting in him had earned her agency several awards, she’d ceased trying to tell him what to do. She admired his talent, but moreover, she respected him—and there weren’t many people Erin Whelan respected.
Nico roared up to the front entrance of the hotel on his Ducati. From the lobby, Jacob and Erin watched him dismount the bike and take off his helmet, raking his fingers through his hair. He wore soft, faded blue jeans with a white, tailored shirt unbuttoned at the top and the hem hanging out. Jacob laughed out loud and nudged Erin with a knowing glint in his eye. She sighed; Jacob had known her long enough to know, without her declaring it, that she and Nico were fucking.
Striding confidently into the lobby, Nico greeted Erin with a double-cheek kiss, then gave Jacob a firm handshake. Men and women both always looked Nico up and down, and Jacob noticed the heads turning when Nico walked in—a fact not lost on Nico, either. The group made their way into the Coast restaurant, and were escorted to Erin’s regular table where she often conducted business meetings. Erin eyed Nico as he unbuttoned the sleeves of his shirt, revealing beautifully defined forearms and a woven leather bracelet. Even just sitting down, rolling up his sleeves, and picking up a glass of water, Nico was graceful and fluid in his movement.
Jacob and Erin didn’t waste time ordering, and Nico glanced at the menu quickly before Erin called over the server. Immediately, Erin began their meeting. “Nico, let me fill you in on Jacob. Jacob’s work isn’t typical advertising you might see. He makes films. Artistic, moody films. We think this film should focus on presenting you as a Kundalini Yoga and energy healing guru.”
Nico nodded approvingly. “Sounds great,” he flashed his million-dollar smile. “Can I see some of your work?” he addressed Jacob.
Erin replied, “I’ll show you some later at my office.”
Jacob let Erin speak for him, preferring to observe his subject. She continued, “For now I just wanted you two to meet casually, so Jacob could hear your story and get to know you personally.” Just then, their meals and beverages arrived, and as Erin and Jacob began picking at their salads, she asked Nico to tell Jacob about his years living in Peru.
Nico got right down to business. “I lived for many years in the Andes with the Q’ero, learning from them.” He didn’t look at Erin; for this conversation, Nico wanted to ensure Jacob understood the sacredness of what he was going to explain.
After ensuring Jacob’s attention was fixed on him, Nico continued, “That was ten years ago, and over time I was initiated by them. Here in the United States, the common term used for what I am is shaman—or sometimes healer or mystic. But the word shaman does not exist in the medicine traditions of the Andes. The healers are called paqos.” Battling with the noisy, vibrant environment, Nico lowered his voice and spoke slowly and softly to retain Jacob’s attention. He explained, “It is a rigorous apprenticeship. Paqos are masters of working with energy, and they understand techniques for transmuting it. We communicate with the spirits of the elements—coca, maize, even the mountain itself—with the mother spirit, which is sacred and never dies.”
Nico’s eloquence held Jacob and Erin mesmerized.
Nico was pleased by their attention. “I can hear the leaves speak to me when I’m in a heightened state of consciousness. You have to prepare for this and be able to integrate yourself spiritually before you can heal another soul. We are all sacred. Everything is sacred in its own way. Coca leaves are sacred and were given to us by Pachamama, Earth Mother, to guide us and heal us. We become more open when we discover the spirit in plants like coc
a. They’re here to help us.”
Jacob looked over at Erin, a bit incredulous. Erin nodded at him knowingly, and Jacob turned back to Nico, “Coca leaves—as in cocaine?”
Nico sniffed dismissively. “It’s not the same. The leaves are part of a sacred ritual, and they’re not processed like a drug sold for recreation. We use these leaves to communicate with powerful spirits and to heal, not to party in a nightclub. It’s the same with my initiation to San Pedro, which is mescaline. A San Pedro ceremony is the most magical healing ceremony. The shaman wakes up the spirits of San Pedro, and they allow him to see. You must be humble! Little by little, you begin to understand how things function. But you need to ask the right questions before San Pedro will give you answers.”
Nico was really on point, and Jacob sat agape as he listened. “The San Pedro ceremony is very beautiful and involves several processes. First is the invocation to the spirits, then the shaman does a diagnosis and a divination to learn what’s wrong with the person. Then the healing begins! We use power objects called ‘artes,’placed on the altar of the mesa. Artes may include shells, bones, swords, crystals, mirrors, crosses, and of course the shaman’s seguros—bottles filled with perfume and plants chosen for healing and spiritual qualities. The arrangement of all of this must be very precise. Under the influence of San Pedro, the powers of the seguros are seen and experienced, and the shaman is able to use these forces to diagnose and heal.”
Nico stopped speaking. He normally would never explain as much as he just had, preferring to keep his initiation and the teaching private. Silence hung over the table for a long pause, like mist from the moors. Erin spoke first, “Nico, I want to do this ceremony with you! Why haven’t we done it?”
Nico answered firmly, “You haven’t come to me for healing. Though we certainly do work on moving your prana.” He turned to Jacob to explain further, “In the Q’ero language of Quechua, what eastern yoga calls chi is called prana—the living energy—Sami and Hucha. We do not have good or bad energy, but rather light and dense energy. Sami is light and natural from the earth. Hucha is created by human beings when we are out of harmony; it’s heavy and dense. We accumulate Hucha, making us out of balance with the natural world. But we can use Kundalini Yoga to cleanse our energy bodies of Hucha and return to balance.”
The Sleeping Serpent: A woman's struggle to break an obsessive bond with her yoga master Page 20